I'm Only Lonely For You
by fairylighter21
Summary: "It's ok to miss him, George," She had murmured softly to him as she'd stroked his hair from his eyes, "It's ok to want him back." - A series of drabbles in no particular order featuring HG/GW. Various ratings may apply!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first HP fic... ever. Constructive criticism welcome! Please be gentle though, yeah?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything HP related. Got it? Good.**

Moonlight filtered in through the open window, the curtains blowing ever so slightly in the breeze, wind chimes tinkling softly. There was a shaft of light that sliced across the room and across the bed where they lay, one asleep – one not.

It was rare for him to sleep undisturbed these days, memories haunting his every footstep, and when she'd awoken twenty minutes earlier and discovered him doing so she had taken great pains not to wake him. It was rare enough that he actually got to sleep during the night at all, but for him to be out like a light and in a deep, dreamless sleep was a mere miracle. She'd lost count of the amount of times over the past year she'd woken up to him screaming, crying or trembling so hard that the entire bed shook. He was a completely different man during the day, but as soon as his head hit the pillow at night-time he transformed into someone else. Someone almost frail.

She ran her fingers through his hair carefully, allowing his strong arm to pull her to his side in sleep, his face nuzzled between her bare breasts. His skin was almost milky beside hers, but was by no means pale anymore. George was a definite summer baby – he loved the warm weather, thrived in it even, and often she'd find herself wondering out to him as he worked during the days and smoothing sun tan lotion all over his back and shoulders. He would stand there patiently while she fussed, moving the appropriate limb upon command so she was sure she'd gotten an even coverage.

Against her his breathing hitched, his shoulders tensing beneath her gentle hands. He murmured wordlessly against her skin, his brow furrowing as he started to become restless. She immediately began stroking his hair and neck, her mouth pressed to the top of his head as she whispered reassuring nothings to him. His arms were wound tight around her waist by now and they squeezed her a little tighter than was comfortable, but she ignored it. She wasn't about to argue with him about squeezing too hard when she was more concerned about putting his fears to rest.

"It's ok," she whispered, fingers carding through long hair. "Shhh, Love. It's alright…" She could feel wetness against her skin and tears started to swell unbidden in her eyes. She knew what he was dreaming about, knew exactly what it was that was distressing him so much.

Fred.

She couldn't even begin to imagine how he felt most days, the loss of her parents a dull ache compared to his everyday struggle. At first he had been so quiet, so uncharacteristically quiet that everyone had suspected the worst. They would hover and fuss over him, refuse to leave him alone until finally one day the normally lovable and quirky George Weasley had snapped. He had raged and screamed, sobbed and thrown things and almost destroyed the ground floor of The Burrow in his state until she had finally shaken herself from her shocked stupor and stunned him. He had lain on the floor, red-faced and blotchy from his tears, curled in the foetal position with his head pillowed in her lap and wailed for a solid hour.

"_It's ok to miss him, George," _She had murmured softly to him as she'd stroked his hair from his eyes_, "It's ok to want him back."_

There were still days where he needed to hear those words, even several years after his other half had died. She felt helpless on those days, lying awake listening to him call Fred's name in his sleep, sometimes with a laugh, others with a terrible scream of pain. Those days he felt so far away from her, so broken but slowly, surely, he was coming back to her. It was taking a while longer than anticipated, but it didn't matter to her.

He was hers now and she was in it for the long haul.


	2. The Dance

Her face was wet with tears and she was hiccupping slightly, shoes dangling from her fingers when she noticed she had company. Shiny toes of a pair of men's dress shoes stopped at her side and when they didn't continue moving along she huffed and sniffled discreetly, fingers wiping at her face furiously.

"What? Never seen a girl cry before?" She snapped waspishly. The shiny shoes moved slightly, but only to come closer.

"Sure I have. Never seen one quite so pretty crying over someone quite so bloody stupid though."

She blinked owlishly and looked up at the owner of said shiny shoes and saw one of the twins staring down at her, expression unreadable. She studied him for a moment, examined the way his hair fell across his eyes and then she saw it – the tiny scar over his right eyebrow.

"… George?" Her voice was soft and watery, a little nasal from crying for so long. "Are you here to insult me as well?"

"Could be," he offered conversationally with a cheeky grin. "After all, who in their right mind would be so torn up over dear Ronni-kins?" At her unimpressed look he sobered. "I'm here to ask you to dance." He said quietly.

She stared at him. "Is this some sort of joke?" She asked finally, looking for the other half of Hogwarts' greatest tricksters. There were few lingering couples in the corridors, most of the students having disappeared at some point between Ron making a scene and her collapsing in tears, but no Fred. She stared at his outstretched hand long enough for him to look uncomfortable before she realized that he was serious. George Weasley wanted to dance with her. Her.

It took a moment for her to realize that he was slowly retracting his hand. "Look, Hermione.. If you-"

She cut him off. "I'd love to." Her stomach gave a small flip at his happy grin but she quashed it down and carefully rose to her feet, painfully aware that she was barefoot. She moved to slip her shoes back on but George's hand stilled her.

"Leave 'em off."

She nodded mutely, inwardly hoping that he wasn't about to step on her toes as she had seen him do earlier that night with his own date and slipped her hand into his outstretched one. He helped her to her feet and led her a small ways away from the steps, then his hand was on her waist and they were swaying slowly, mere feet from the great hall.

"You do, you know," at her confused look he went on, "- look lovely, that is."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and a sudden swarm of butterflies took off in her belly. Why was she reacting like this? It was a mere compliment, and he was probably only saying to be nice, not because he meant anything by it. Of course that was it. She looked up at him and plastered a smile on her face. It was a little watery but it was a smile none the less.

"You don't scrub up too bad yourself, Mr Weasley." She offered politely, the butterflies taking a nose dive in her belly and doing a full barrel roll inside her before settling again when she saw his pleased grin.

"Why thank you, Granger," He mock bowed and pulled her close once more, "Was dead lucky, you know. Almost had to wear those monstrosities that Mum sent along for the idiot." He saw her crack a grin at the thought and he felt his ears go pink. Thank goodness his hair covered them. "Thank Merlin for small mercies though," he grinned, "Pink just isn't my colour." When she didn't laugh he sighed and let his hand stroke the small of her back.

"It's like this, Granger… You're an amazing bird, right? Anyone would be lucky to have you and one day you will meet a guy that will treat you like the total bloody gem you are." Her head fell against his shoulder and he knew she was crying again from the audible sniffles floating up to his ears. "You don't need Ron. He's an idiot for not asking you to this shindig himself."

She sniffed delicately. "I kept waiting but…"

"Don't."

Hermione looked up at him, her arms looped around his neck loosely. She was taken aback by the shortness of his words. "Don't what?"

He looked down at her, a strange smile on his face that left her wondering what was going on in that troublesome head of his. "Don't ever wait for a bloke, Granger. If you want something you go after it, take the bull by the horns I believe the saying goes." He gave her a charming smile and bent to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. She realized the song was finished and he was stepping away from her. He held her at arms length and looked down at her, then wiped the fresh tears on her face away with his thumbs. "Alright, Granger?"

She nodded and gave him a small smile. "I'm fine now, George. Thank you."

He threw her a grin as he backed away. "Any time, Granger. Any time."


	3. The One With the Alcohol

"You have pretty eyes."

George looked down at her, a look of quiet yet fond amusement on his face. The last thing he'd been expecting when Fred had come barrelling into their dorm room to fetch him was to find Hermione Granger, Prefect extraordinaire, drunk out of her mind. And in the common room no less! He had shot Fred a warning glare when he'd smirked like the devil he was, a look full of words only the two of them could convey, before he'd hauled Hermione to her feet. The trek to the girl's dorm was interesting to say the least.

"Thank you, Petal." He smoothed her fluffy hair back off her forehead as he carefully navigated the stairs. "Now, tell me how you got so bloody trashed without anyone knowing and why."

She huffed, listing heavily toward him. "And if I do?"

"I'll tell you a secret." He promised, hand on heart.

Her eyes lit up like the Christmas tree in Diagon Alley. "Oh, a secret? I love secrets! What is it?"

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Now, now, Petal – you first." He caught her when she tripped, one strong arm wrapping itself around her tiny waist. She curled into his side and drunkenly nuzzled his jumper over his heart. She was cooing at the softness of it.

"Why do you call me that?"

He shrugged lightly. "Because you're all delicate like and that…"

She pulled away from him with a sharp gasp, her foot stomping on the cold stone steps, hands on her 'where-the-hell-did-they-come-from' hips.

"George Weasley! I am an independent woman - I am hardly some delicate little flower who needs coddling like a baby!"

"Maybe not," he offered conversationally, "but you're sure as hell as pretty as one."

She stood for a moment, flabbergasted, then a healthy blush spread its way across the apple of her cheeks. "George… I… It's hardly proper to…"

He smiled tightly. Of course… not proper and all that rubbish. What was he thinking? "C'mon, Granger. Time for bed, me thinks." He caught her when she stumbled again, still none the wiser as to how she came to be so bloody trolleyed. "Can you walk, Petal?"

"M'good." She murmured, snuggling underneath his arm.

George pressed a kiss to her brow, completely missing the look of sheer adoration coupled with misery that crossed her features.

With any luck she wouldn't remember him helping her to bed in the morning anyway.


	4. The Breakdown

Everyone was watching his every move, just waiting for him to break down.

It took four whole weeks but it was his own mother that pulled the pin on him and broke the dam that he'd built around himself. It was a mere slip of the tongue but it had brought him undone and once the floodgates were open he couldn't help himself.

"Fred, could you just call your brothers for dinner?"

He sat motionless on the sofa, waiting for her to realize what she had said but when she just blinked at him, waiting for him to move, he sneered at the cold fireplace.

"I'm George, Mum." He turned to face her, unseeing through his rage at the look of sheer despair on her face when she realized what she'd said. "Fred's dead… Remember?"

"George…"

He rose to his feet, the air around him crackling with pent up energy, silver-blue flecks of power sparking from his very being. "Don't bloody 'George' me! You can't even tell which is which even after one of us has fucking died – newsflash, Mum… Fred is dead and he's never coming home!" He pointed to the clock on the wall to where Fred's face was missing. "He's even disappeared from the damn clock! Couldn't wait to get rid of everything that reminded you of him, could you?! COULD YOU?!"

By this time his shouting had drawn a crowd and Molly was crying in earnest, Charlie's thick arms wrapped around her, voice low and soothing as everyone started yelling back. George however was having none of it.

"I'm sick and fucking tired of you all pussy-footing around me! I'm George, the only part of Fred left in this bloody house and I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted me g-"

"STUPEFY!"

The sudden silence was deafening. George fell to the floor, immobile and mute and Molly started to sob anew. There was a stunned silence and everyone turned toward the fireplace where a dusty and flustered Hermione stood, wand drawn. She didn't even look at any of them before rushing to George's side, muttering the counter curse and pulling his head into her lap.

"George? George, I'm so sorry, but I couldn't let you finish that sentence!"

He curled into himself, silent for a long heartbeat before he started to shake, his whole body shuddering underneath the weight of his grief. She stroked and cooed at him, her hands tangled in his hair as he sobbed for all his worth into her pretty silk skirt.

He was keening for his brother, for his lost other half, begging her to bring him back. Hermione blinked through tears herself and kissed his face, ignorant to the looks they were getting from the rest of the family.

"I can't bring him back, George, you know that." He cried harder at her words, the wish that he'd been the one to die finally voiced aloud. "It's ok to miss him," a soft kiss to his brow, "It's ok to want him back."

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up, startled to see Arthur looking down at her, his expression tender and watery. 'Thank you', he mouthed before ushering the rest of the family out of the room to leave them alone, dragging an open mouthed Molly after him.

And if they didn't move from the floor for another three hours, then that was their business.


	5. Retrospect

She found him out by the lake, face upturned toward the sun with his hands buried deep inside his pockets. Her footsteps slowed slightly once she spotted him and she was almost sure he hadn't heard her approach as he didn't make a move to greet her as he usually would.

Ever since he had broken down in her arms two weeks before he had been subdued, apologizing profusely for his behaviour to anyone that would listen. He had made amends with his mother, truly remorseful for upsetting her so and had sat with her for hours at a time since talking about Fred and owning up to some of their more creative mishaps over the years.

Yes, it was George who had turned Bill's hair blue as the train was leaving platform 9 ¾ on his first day as Head Boy but it had been Fred's idea to charm Bill's famous fang earring to bite him every time he said 'and', 'um' or 'well'. The fact that um sounded a lot like mum didn't go unnoticed by the earring either, so it had taken to biting him for that as well. The twins had ended up buying him a brand new earring after that, the persistent piece of jewellery becoming a right menace of its own.

She watched him for a little while longer, marvelling at the look of utter peace on his face. She moved a little closer and he turned to look at her, expression tired but calm. He shot her a small smile.

"Hey you," he held out a hand, fingers brushing hers and tugging her to his side. He gave her a one armed hug, then dropped his arm over her shoulders. Things had changed between them since Fred's death. George had always been kind to her, tactile and affectionate whereas his twin was often bawdy and very hands off, his personality more abrasive than the quieter of the two. She didn't mean abrasive in a bad way though, Fred was merely more spirited than George, his sense of humour one of the only things that made them easy for her to tell apart. Fred would never have slow danced with her, he would have spun her around the floor, feet in the air and laughing the whole time… George was different. George called her Petal and kissed her on the forehead when he thought she was too drunk to remember. George would tell her she was pretty and defend her from other students until he was red in the face and George made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

Now though, after Fred's death, he would seek her out in a crowded room and stand behind her like a protective statue, one hand on the small of her back. He had taken to flooing her every night before bed and sometimes afterwards in the early hours when his sleep was interrupted by nightmares because he knew she had them too. If there was no space to sit next to her on the sofa he would forcibly move anyone who stood between them and take his place at her side.

Somewhere along the line they had become George and Hermione, a unit, rather than just individual beings. The thought should have scared her in all honesty… but it didn't. It felt right.

"Your mum says lunch is almost ready," she leaned into his side. "Are you hungry?"

He hummed softly. "I could eat."

Delight spread throughout her body at his admission. He hadn't been eating a lot lately so to hear he was hungry made her happier than she could have imagined. Something so silly meant so much to her.

"I made cookies," she blurted out. "-if you want some that is."

He shot her a faint grin. "Cookies, you say?"


	6. Nervous? Never!

He had never been so nervous in all his life, he decided. It was a simple thing he wanted to do, four simple words to say… 'Have dinner with me'. But no. Apparently it wasn't that easy at all.

Sure, they'd had dinner together before, all the time in fact, but that was at The Burrow. It was always loud and crowded, elbows knocking and food flying around a magically stretched table with every remaining member of the family and then some attending. Never had they eaten alone though and never had it ever been something like a date. Gods, a date. It made him feel ill all over again just thinking about it.

He had liked Hermione for years – even before he'd seen her all glammed up for the Yule Ball in her fourth year. When he had seen her leave with Ron hot on her heels, the two arguing vehemently, he had secretly followed them only to witness her breakdown into tears. He'd also noticed how nobody was going to come to her aid either. Approaching her that night had been the best and possibly stupidest thing he could have done, but he was glad he'd done it.

Getting to know Hermione was like Christmas, a big fat gift that he wasn't expecting from someone who he had never really considered before.

When she'd agreed to dance with him that night, her small hand slipping into his large one he knew he was screwed six ways from Sunday. He liked Hermione Granger.

Fred had teased him mercilessly about it of course, as was his way, but once his twin had realized that his feelings for the 'bushy haired little swot' were genuine he had backed off. Well, he'd backed off as well as he could without it looking suspicious anyway. Fred had been more than vexed that he couldn't poke fun at her the night he had found her drunk off her socks in the common room – and in her fifth year no less! He'd tutted at her about the dangers of underage drinking but bless her heart, she didn't seem to be able to remember him finding her there anyway.

Nor did she remember George helping her to bed or the sloppy almost-kiss that she had planted on his cheek, entirely too close to the corner of his mouth to be an accident he thought, proclaiming that he was her own personal hero.

George sighed. Maybe he was reading too much into her affections – after all, it had only been two months since Fred had… Maybe he was just desperate to be needed again and was seeing her casual touches and hugs as more than they were meant to be?

"… George?!"

He jumped, startled. "Petal!" He blurted out, surprised by her sudden appearance but then it dawned on him. He had been standing outside her room for what felt like hours contemplating asking her on a date – oh god, there was the nausea again- and she must have heard him pacing.

Hermione blinked up at him, her clothing dishevelled and a pile of books on the bed behind her. She'd obviously been reading and he'd disturbed her. Her hair was twisted up off her neck and held tight with an old quill, errant curls escaping from the makeshift bun. She looked lovely to him, cheeks flushed and bottom lip pink from chewing on it.

"Is there something wrong, George?" She looked him over, noticing his shaking hands. "Are you alright?" her voice grew soft and took on a worried yet gentle tone as not to spook him.

He cleared his throat. "I…" He stared down at her and took a deep, deep breath. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?"

She smiled a half smile and leaned against the door frame. "Why of course I will, George. I'll be at dinner just like everyone else."

He pinched the bridge of his noise in frustration. "No, I mean that will be.." he breathed in slowly. "What I mean to say is, would you have dinner with me?" At her confused look, "-just me. Like a date."

Her mouth took on an 'o' shape and she turned bright pink. "Oh I see," she whispered, her fingers nervously playing with the chain around her neck. She bit her lip and it was all he could do not to lean down and plant one on her there and then. She looked adorable. "I.. Yes." She stammered. "Yes. That would be lovely, George."

He smiled at her, one so whole and bright that she almost forgot how depressed he had been in past months. He quickly bid her goodnight and kissed her on the brow as had become customary between them before thundering down the stairs only to be met by a waiting Charlie and Bill. They smirked at him, twin gleams in their eyes when he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Well, well, well," Charlie began.

Bill finished. "It's about bloody time you grew a pair and asked her out."

George couldn't help but smile back at them. She'd said yes.


	7. Brother's Wisdom

Charlie was a patient man, really, he was, but watching his brother tip-toe around the Granger girl was painful.

He didn't understand it. He obviously liked her – a lot – and she quite obviously mooned over him, so what was the problem?

"Hey, Charlie…?"

He looked up as George sat beside him, two glasses of Ogden's finest in his hands and quickly liberated one from him, the liquid sloshing across his knuckles. He shot his brother a look of mock irritation and laughed outright when George's face flushed pink.

"No harm, no foul, Georgie." He murmured, licking the alcohol from his fingers before downing a mouthful of it. "What's up?" He watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, turning the tumbler of Ogden's nervously in his fingers. He knew he would speak when he was ready so he waited, and waited and waited.

Finally, "Do you think I'm moving on too fast?" George's voice was soft, as if he were afraid to be heard saying those words out loud for fear of scolding.

Charlie hummed quietly. So that was his problem then. "Everyone mourns in their own way, Georgie. Just because you're thinking about being happy doesn't mean you're disrespecting anyone, especially Fred. He would have wanted you to be happy."

George's cool façade cracked slightly, a look of inherent unhappiness flashing across his face. "He would have…." He choked slightly on the words, "Oh Gods, he's not coming back is he?"

Charlie spotted the look of panic on his face before he'd even begun to hyperventilate and quickly set his glass down on the grass beside him, a strong arm pulling his baby brother to his side. He whispered to him, big hands smoothing hair back and rubbing his arm as his brother broke down for the first time in weeks.

"No, he's not coming back, George… There's a saying that would work for this sort of thing though," he cleared his throat and marvelled at how not-awkward it was for George to be laying all over him. "'To live in the hearts of those left behind is not to die'. As long as he's remembered in here," he tapped his chest, "- he's never really gone, y'know?"

The younger wizard nodded, silent tears making tracks down his face. "He made so much fun of me when he found out about her," he laughed, sniffing, "-til I smacked him in the mouth."

Charlie's laughter boomed out of him. "Now that I believe!" He helped George back upright and watched him rub at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Look, Georgie… Hermione is a great kid," at George's sharp look he rephrased, "-woman. She's a great young woman, George and you deserve to be happy after everything. It's what we all want for you and to see you so tied up in knots about her… Well, rest assured you have no reason to be afraid. The girl is crazy about you."

George looked up at the stars, crickets chirping around them, moon bright. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, I really think so." He looked back at the house and spotted their eldest brother lingering in the doorway watching over them and grinned. "Now, go get your girl."


End file.
